


you're familiar like my mirror years ago

by junebeetle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AAA - Freeform, Angst, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Former Cherubim Aziraphale, God: no, M/M, Pining, True Forms, Whump, aziraphale has trauma-induced amnesia from getting denoted, can u tell i literally cant figure out how heaven + angels work pre-eden, crowley (walks into heaven with regina george tiddy holes in his tunic): h, crowley gets kicked out of heaven for wearing his angel robes too slutty, crowley is just bad with names adjdjdj, he gave lucifer a bandage like Once and the almighty changed the locks on the door 2 heaven on him, just sum fun headcanons!, lemme be real this is fully an au, like i dont think this could be canon at all tbh nor would i want it to be, sumtimes angels r eldritch horrors but sumtimes they are sexie twunks and both r valid!!, wat tf does heaven look like!! what do them angel bitches look like!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 21:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19472488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junebeetle/pseuds/junebeetle
Summary: "innocence died screaming, honey ask me i should know..."funny how after six thousand years, you can still have your secrets from each other.





	you're familiar like my mirror years ago

THE THING ABOUT ANGELS’ TRUE FORMS is that to describe them in honest, deep detail would not only be damn near blasphemous, it would be really, really, hard. Each angel is Heavenly, and Heavenly here means, in layman’s terms, rather God-ish, and since She is infinite and ineffable and all, no two angels will look the same. There are some shared traits amongst the Spheres, though. As they go, most consist of the typical ethereal, Eldritch, mish-mashed, many-eyed nonsense-- Thrones, for example, are wheels within wheels covered in an uncountable amount of eyes (God was feeling quite spicy this day). However, some, such as those from the second and third Spheres, take on appearances more resembling very gorgeous and very Strange humans, if rather Too, a word here which means Too Strong, Too Beautiful, Too Big, and simply just Too Much. A good metaphor here is a puzzle piece, one of God’s most favorite creations. A puzzle piece that is Too is a puzzle piece with gorgeous, vibrant shades and a hyper-realistic style, using optical illusions and advanced techniques to make it all 3-D and give it this advanced shading. The other pieces, however, are simple and cartoonish, with colours faded from time and flat lines and shadow-less shapes. And while the Too puzzle piece technically fits perfectly into it’s spot, it Almost doesn’t, Almost fills out every curve too tightly that the line in-between is not visible. This is to say, and don’t tell any of them this, angels are the perfect humans without all the millions of minute flaws and weaknesses that we have come to accept, and this was none the more evident when looking at an angel you were inexplicably drawn to.

And as of late, young cherubim Aziraphale had found himself strangely and inexplicably drawn to the archangel Raphael. This was none the more evident than right Now, where he was currently watching Raphael idly shape a meteor somewhere by Earth, lounging in mid-air with his wings draping down and brushing against his emerald robes.

Aziraphale had never spoken to Raphael-- never spoken to any of the archangels, actually. Though technically cherubim were in a higher Sphere than archangels, things were more complex than a ranking system. Though cherubim were, for a lack of a better term, God’s personal servants, the archangels were far closer to Her, and did much more in general, causing a reputation of being rather standoffish and uppity. But, still. The fact that he hadn’t even made polite eye contact with him yet bothered him for some strange reason. Bothered him quite a lot, since-- mostly against his will, due to angels unfortunately being gossipy beings-- he knew quite a lot about the archangel.

Raphael loved the stars; and sound, and though his brother Sandalphon was planning to be the patron of music, he indulged in rhythm and loved the way he could make his voice stretch out and snap back, “singing” as it were, as much as you can do with that when you’re in Heaven and vocal cords haven’t been invented yet. He loved making galaxies, loved putting a hint of pressure on an idling meteor and changing it’s course, loved feeling the stars and things pulse up against his palms and burst into being over and over again. During the latter, Aziraphale found he would get this look on his face that was some sort of innocently manic, almost as if-- well, as the phrase unfortunately came to be many years later-- almost as if he delighted in playing God. 

According to rumour, Raphael was kind, but teasing, in the way where he liked to make people think. According to the same rumour, he cared very much about lots and found it unjust when others did not-- Raphael had many feelings about justice, apparently even put Michael to shame sometimes. According to not a rumour but to General Angel Knowledge, he was also technically the patron of healing-- like all archangels this was what had been decided of him before his existence, just as Uriel was chosen for arts and illumination, and Gabriel, communication and stamp-collecting. However, when asked by other angels about this Raphael would smile and hum, and say something about how he was still deciding, that he was looking at travelling and lovers and meetings. He never mentioned anything about music, though, but Aziraphale knew that he must be thinking about how Sandalphon-- Sandalphon!-- had been handed the reigns for that bit. Though he would never even bring this thought to the front of his mind, and kept it somewhere behind his left face, he could’ve sworn Raphael had been Created for rhythm and song and all that. Either way, Aziraphale never thought he was straying away from his purpose-- lovers, and travel, and meetings, and maybe music, he thought all that was healing, soothing for the soul. He hoped others agreed.

Raphael was not only a mysterious individual, but right now he was singing, Aziraphale realized. There were no songs, so when Raphael sang, it was like a whip he lashed out and swung through the air, twisting back towards him and forwards again. In other words, the lyrics consisted of a stunning variety of Hee-Hoo’s, Hee-A’s, and Ooo’s. It rather resembled what would come to be known as kulning, a wonderful human invention that was a very sad sounding Scandinavian herding call. He was doing it softly, and lowly, but Aziraphale heard, as always.

No angel was ever alone, but from what his eyes could see most of the other angels were either back home or so far away they disappeared into the blackness. So, Aziraphale sat beside the archangel.

‘Sat’ is perhaps not the best word. Raphael, human-like as he appeared, had his wings lazily draped down, his upper body bent back, and his legs crossed, knees up as if he were reclining in an invisible chair (In a way, perhaps he first invented the concept of one). Aziraphale, however, was a cherubim, and though he would never describe himself as ridiculous-looking, while I sit here trying to find a way to describe his four faces (one a man, one an ox, one a lion, and one an eagle) and four wings (all covered with a hearty amount of eyes), and lion’s body and ox feet, I most certainly would.

Luckily, Aziraphale’s lion body resembled slightly more that of an anthropomorphic lion, which would be invented shortly after The Fall, and so found a way to almost mimic Raphael’s position, though curled his body into itself a bit more with some cat-like affliction. 

“Good day,” He said, quite unsure of what else to say.

“Just as She makes it.” Raphael said, with the sort of piety that was, while absolutely expected from each and every angel, still a surprise to be actually heard. Something about the way his mouth curved slightly told Aziraphale that maybe that was on purpose. He didn’t take his eyes off the meteor in front of him. “What brings you out here, cherubim? So far from home.”

Aziraphale had truthfully never been this close to the archangel Raphael before. And, well, surely it would be a service to Her to say that he was rather beautiful? A good job well done, he might say. He had this long, tousled, pushed-back hair, red-- one of the colours he had heard was being considered for human blood-- and from what he had seen of Raphael while he was standing he knew it to fall down to just above the backs of his knees. His eyes were a vibrant and cool shade of green, and his features high and poised and looked almost prodding, questioning-- everything, from the jutting sharpness of the tip of his nose to the slight constant lowering of his violet-tinted lids, seemed… provocative, not in the sinful meaning of the world, of course. But as if, just by looking at him, Aziraphale felt like there was something within him he was being forced to acknowledge.

“Oh, merely-- checking up on things, I suppose,” He said. “Came out here with the intention to make something, but then I got here and then I-- well, I suppose I just--”

“Ran out of steam?” Raphael said, with that same curving yet blank smile. Dry, perhaps, was the word.

“Oh, well yes, I suppose so.” Aziraphale admitted. He examined the way the blue-tinted light from stars bounced off his polished hooves, which he had twisted daintily. “I-I came up here, and I suppose I just… well, I didn’t know what else there was to make. It’s strange, I’ll watch other angels make things, and I’ll think, ‘Oh, that’ll look lovely’, or ‘Oh, you should change this or that’, but whenever I try and flourish something up myself, I simply just-- well, I can’t do it.”

“You’re a cherubim.” Raphael said, his unnatural green eyes flickering over slowly, unabashedly, to Aziraphale for a moment. His lion’s face sniffed. A couple of the archangel’s eyes stayed on him, but most, including his main two, went back to the meteor. He waved a hand, thin-fingered with fascinatingly protruding knuckles, and shaved off a bit on the side. “You’re not supposed to create things. Don’t worry about it.”

Aziraphale had a reaction he supposed few others would have had, and let out a sigh of relief. “Oh-- oh, truly? Well, of course I knew, but-- so long as others don’t… disapprove of my lack of creative talent, I suppose.”

“You suppose a lot.” Raphael said, though didn’t sound unkind. Quite the opposite, his voice had this underlying fondness to it with everything he said, and it was all low and meandering but still happy sounding. Kind of husky, tone curving cleverly. Lilting was the best word, and he spoke cheerily and like he knew something, a whole lot, actually, and knew he couldn’t tell you everything but was happy to drop little hints because he knew you would figure it out. “But naw, that’s mostly our lot. No, no, She has other great big plans for you.” He held his hands up and curved them, almost like he was making a circle shape, but they were too spread apart. Slowly, he began to saw them back and forth, back and forth, like a wheel rolling back and forth in a breeze too weak to shift it out of place. Aziraphale was aware, in the back of his head, that every single one of his eyes was looking at Raphael’s hands, and was only vaguely aware of the dust and large crumbs loudly being shaved off the sides of the meteor in the background and dropping into the Infinity below. In the same manner, he registered Raphael’s tongue, smooth and pink, poking out of his ever-curved mouth, and his head tilting, not in concentration but more in relaxation. In the same manner, he watched as his curls swung over to brush against his left arm.

Aziraphale didn’t know how much time had passed since Raphael spoke, and for a moment he was so entranced by the sawing motion of his pretty, pretty curved palms, he was unsure if it had been invented yet. “Ah.” When he found his voice. His ox face sniffed intimidatingly. “Ah, well, I s-- guess-- that is true.” Some of his eyes looked around. He had never really been out here without hoards of other angels sending stars booming into existence, and meteors crashing past. It was rather nice to see the full stretch of colours, all pink and blue and red and green splotchy among the infinite black and the white pinpricks. Such simple colours, but, well-- Heaven was so complicated sometimes, all infinite eyes and crowds of principalities bustling about, that Aziraphale sort of liked the simplicity. Sometimes, he thought, looking at his extra three faces-- really only there for decoration-- everything was a little too complex. He craved relaxation, reprieve. 

And he supposed this, sitting here with the archangel Raphael himself, in the near-empty cosmos, was the closest he had come in his existence.

Raphael’s wings shifted. Aziraphale first feared he was going to fly away, but he merely adjusted them, spread them out a bit. His right uncurled, and for the first time Aziraphale noticed there was something tucked away in them.

Raphael's wing moved forward and, like a hand, dropped it into Raphael's open palm. He grabbed it and turned it over idly. 

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale said, with not much else of an idea for what to say. And it was, as were all of Her creations; it was long and smooth, nicely polished, a cool, dark shade of brown, with some pink thing twisted around it. “I have a polished set of hooves, myself.” 

Before Aziraphale could marinate in his mortification at… That, Raphael tilted his head back and let out this high laugh, making his eyes sparkle, his beautiful eyes like strange glowing jewels, strange enough of a colour to feel almost like a warning. Aziraphale noticed how his fluorescent emerald robes, though surely pinned so intricately as to keep them out of his way, showed off a fair bit of shoulder and collarbone. Such a strange thing, that kind of skin was. Aziraphale was aware he had some on his human face, and sometimes he wondered what it looked like, what that part of him looked like. This was not one of those times.

_Beautiful indeed,_ Aziraphale thought, and though lacking in shoulders and wings, his eagle face seemed to preen at the unintentional praise from the archangel.

Once Raphael stopped laughing, Aziraphale examined the staff closer and found that most notable was the creature entwined around it, for that pink thing surely was a creature. It looked rather unusual, long and lacking in any limbs, and appeared to have scales; some variety of those fish things gone wrong, perhaps? But those weren’t supposed to be released yet, either. Whatever it was, it was particularly gorgeous; it’s scales glowed in the blackness surrounding them, fluorescent magenta and darkly iridescent like an oil slick, or one of the more interesting-looking galaxies. However, as it continued to twist around the staff, slow and curious, Aziraphale realized that it’s bottom half was pearlescent white. It blinked it’s strange, gold eyes at him.

“W-what is it?” He breathed, main two eyes blinking rapidly. The rest, always embarrassingly indicative of his emotions, damn near bulged out of their not-quite-sockets to get a closer look.

“A snake,” Raphael said. He looked at his snake with an unidentifiable emotion in his eyes, then looked at Aziraphale. His expression did not change. “Beautiful, or at least I think. I call her Arphaxad, or Xaddie. Gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”

“Can she speak?” Aziraphale knew it was a stupid question, and winced, but if Raphael knew it was a stupid question too he didn’t let on.

“No,” He said, a bit sad. His brow furrowed earnestly as he eyed her pale stomach, contrasting across the dark wood. “Not many creatures can, actually. Bit of a shame. I wonder what she’d have to say.”

“Well, we’re angels, we can always understand what they’re thinking if we so desire.” Aziraphale said.

Raphael shook his head, again with that same open honesty. He looked up at Aziraphale, eyes wide and imploring. “No, no, well-- yes, I understand that bit, but I mean. Oh, you get what I mean, don’t you?”

Aziraphale didn’t think he did, but he rather didn’t like being rude, so he merely nodded. Raphael seemed satisfied, and put his staff upright in the air beside him. Arphaxad twisted up so a quarter of her body curled into the air, though the rest remained coiled on it as she seemed to gaze out at the Earth.

“How are you, Raphael?” He found himself asking. His clasped his hands in his lap, on top of that one set of his wings designated to always cover his modesty. 

Raphael looked at him, by a full tilt of his head, and sighed but not meanly, and smiled, but only half-dryly. None of those made sense to Aziraphale, but, then again, not a whole lot of Raphael did. “How am I, little cherubim? What a question. I suppose I’m still figuring that out, eh?”

Aziraphale did not know how to dissect that, and got the feeling that perhaps Raphael did not want him to. So he sat forward again, and gazed at the Earth, as it had been at the moment.

He saw, with a couple of his eyes, Raphael doing the same beside him. “Beautiful,” the archangel said, softly. “Still a work in progress, but-- beautiful. So full of potential. That’s gorgeous, innit?”

“It is,” Aziraphale agreed. ‘Marvellous. I can’t wait to see what they’re like. I wonder if I’ll get to meet them.”

Raphael laughed, quiet. There wasn’t a joke, but it was around this time that laughing when a joke had not been told had been invented, and Raphael must have picked it up quick. “Oh, that would be wonderful, wouldn’t it, love? Tell you what I want, I'd like to go down there for myself. Go corporeal. See what it's really like. Maybe I’ll put in a good word for the both of us, eh?”

This sent Aziraphale sputtering and stuttering and apologizing, which in turn sent Raphael into a genuine laugh, with his widened grin and crackling eyes. Eventually, Aziraphale realized that the legends had been correct and Raphael was, in fact, a teaser. He smiled and shook his head, and turned to face the Earth again.

“Blue and green, right?” Aziraphale asked. “They’re going to do blue and green?”

Raphael hummed in response.

Aziraphale smiled like a real cherubim, wings ruffling with pride. “Marvellous.”

The archangel and the cherubim watched the Earth together in what would become the First comfortable silence.

* * *

Many things were taken away from Aziraphale during his Denoting; a few on purpose, though, due to the trauma recieved, a few accidental. The details of this memory-- certain bits of dialogue, the colours of the nebulae, Raphael's face, et cetera-- was one of them.


End file.
